


Life Cycle

by Guidinghand



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Family, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-25 15:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30091125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guidinghand/pseuds/Guidinghand
Summary: This is the story of events from Tony’s childhood and how some of those events played into the personality and choices of adult Tony.  And it is the story of how the Howard from Endgame became the father Tony remembers.
Kudos: 3





	1. Visit the Past; Greet the Future

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers. I’m writing for fun. No money is being made.  
> Note: There are a few borrowed lines from the movie, because they give the story context, but it is only a few sentences.
> 
> Note 2: Most of this story is written in 1st person from multiple perspectives. POV means point of view and indicates whose perspective that part of the story is being told from.

_Step through time,_

_Greet the past._

* * *

Steve & Adult Tony

**Tony’s POV** _  
  
_  
Scott was freaking out. Steve was berating me. Everything had gone lopsided and the time heist was a bust. And somehow, billionaire, genius, family man, philanthropist was supposed to come up with a solution while everyone was yelling. “Give me a break Steve. I just got my head smashed into the ground by a Hulk.”

I rested my head on the frame of the car. Closed my eyes. Though I wasn’t dying, my life flashed before them. Bedtime stories of Cap. Dad’s business dealings and trips. Overheard reminisce and arguments. The Pentagon files I’d hacked into on a dare in high school. All the tech I’d built throughout my life. The file dump after Steve and Nat took down the Hydra helicarriers. The box of videos and journals Fury had dumped on me when SHIELD put me on house arrest. And it all coalesced into one thought. 

That fucking genius son of an asshole. Howard had known all along. 

My eyes popped open. “I’ve got it! I can’t tell you how I know, but I know.” There were too many little details, little parts that added up to the whole to fully explain it. “Steve, do you trust me?”  
  
  
“I do.”   
  
  
I sagged with relief. And the two of us vanished back to April 4, 1970, leaving Scott to get the stone in the staff back to 2020.  
  


* * *

  
  


** Steve’s POV **

“Now what?” I asked.

“Now, old man, do you have any antique money left in your wallet from before your ice nap?”

I hated the old man jibes. If you discounted the decades spent in the ice, I was 39, a full 14 years younger than Tony. But I had long grown out of the childhood need to punch every perceived insult. Nicknames were just part of Tony’s speech pattern.

I sighed and reached for my wallet. “You know, I spent my last few pre-ice years in Europe.”

“Which means you had nowhere to spend those good ol’ American greenbacks you made hamming it up for Hollywood war films. And you’re sentimental enough to have kept at least a few bills. Gimmie.” 

Tony made gimmie hands and I held out two 20s. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Geeze, what you are you, my nanny? I’ll spend it wisely Pops. One suit and one extra-large set of not spandex coming up. You work on stealing us a car.”

“Me?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Rogers. I may have not spilled to the others, but Dad spilled plenty to me. Hotwire us a car while I get us clothes. Meet me back here in 30 minutes.”

I crossed my arms and looked up at the sky while in my head I was cursing Howard for ruining my reputation. I’d stolen cars for good reasons! Said probably every car thief or thief of anything ever. 

I tried to be as inconspicuous as a 6’2” tower of muscle in patriotic spandex could manage to be, peaking around corners and only walking out when there were few eyes about. 

I found a parking lot and jiggled a few door handles, finding them locked. If I went around to every car someone was going to take notice. Then I spied a convertible. No need for locked doors. I hoped over the door and into the passenger’s seat. I leaned down under that dash and put to use the skills taught to me by Stark senior. The motor started to purr, and I switched to the driver’s seat and headed back to our meeting spot.

* * *

  
April 4, 1970, Maria, Howard, Adult Tony, and Yet to be Born Anthony

****

**Howard’s POV  
**  
  
“Honey, I’m craving a peanut butter and sauerkraut sandwich. Jarvis is on his way to pick you up. Could you get some sauerkraut on the way home?”  
  
  
I cringed. My wife’s taste had taken a strange turn since I’d put a bun in her oven. “Sure sugar-cakes, anything you want.”  
  
  
I snagged a can from the base’s commissary.   
  
  
Doctor Zola had been working on a modified serum, something to keep the boys in ‘Nam from contracting any foreign diseases. I wanted to pass an idea by him before my brain got sidetracked, as it tended to do, with all the numerous things floating around in there that I wanted to invent. My wife called them my flights of fancy. But she seemed content with my sporadic jumps from one project to another, all costing the heavens, just as long as there was plenty left for her to splurge with as she pleased.   
  
  
“Zola, you down here?”   
  
  
But my eyes fell on another man. Zola, my wife, the sauerkraut, a fledging plan for artificial limbs for injured soldiers all receded to a faint whisper. I couldn’t take my eyes off this stranger. But was he a stranger? “I know you, don’t I?”   
  
  


** Tony’s POV **

  
I fumbled, my heart thrumming wildly. I set the briefcase down, unable to keep it steady in my hands. Dad. Part of me knew we might meet. It’s why I knew to pick this date. But the reality being 53 years in the past standing before Dad floored me. I stumbled my way through half lies, introducing myself to my father.

* * *

** Howard Stark’s POV **   
  


The man claimed to be a visitor from MIT by the name of Howard Potts. Though the MIT rang true, I sensed a lie in the name. But I couldn’t bring myself to call the stranger out on it. Every fiber of my being was screaming at me that it was my duty to help and protect this stranger.   
  


  
We rode up the elevator together sharing little details of our lives, of the child he has and of the one I have on the way.  
  
  
I generally didn’t talk about my fear of having a kid with anyone, but it felt right sharing it with this stranger, so I told him, “I hope it’s a girl. Then maybe she won’t grow up to be me.”  
  
  
“Would that really be such a bad thing?”   
  
  
I caught a bit of a tone of worry in my counterpart’s retort. Odd.  
  


* * *

  
  
Howard and ‘Howard’ walked outside. 

* * *

** Tony’s POV **   
  
  


Steve asked with a silent look, “Did you get it?”  
  
  
I raised the case and nodded, then lifted a finger asking for a minute.   
  


* * *

**Howard Stark’s POV**  
  
Heart thrumming, I admitted, “The kid isn’t even born yet, and I’d do anything I could for ‘im.”  
  


  
  


** Tony’s POV **

****

  
I took in the sincerity of my father’s words, coupled it with my earlier memories, my choice of this date to return to, my own experiences as a dad, and finally understood my father. And in understanding, forgave. I went with instinct and went in for a hug, “Thanks for everything...” I had to swallow back the word Dad, instead tossing in, “...you’ve done for this country.” Then I turned and walked away.  
  


* * *

_Flooring realizations,_

_Greet the future._   
  


* * *

April 5, 1970  
  
** Howard’s POV **

  
The base was abuzz with rumors of two men breaking in and of missing Pym particles. I quickly realized that ‘Howard Potts’ had been one of the intruders. And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone. For some reason I still felt this overwhelming need to protect him.   
  
  
  
It was my wife’s birthday and we were going to go out on the town. It was 6:00, and my 5 o’clock stubble was getting a bit rough to the touch. I stood before the mirror shaving. My hand followed after the blade, checking the smoothness, brushing a dollop of shaving cream from the side of my nose. I sucked in a gasping breath and shaking hands went down to grasp the counter. The shape of the nose. The jawline. I forced my wobbly legs into the bedroom and looked up at the portrait of myself, made a decade ago. Even the eyes were the same.  
  


  
_“I hope it’s a girl. Then maybe she won’t grow up to be me.”  
  
  
“Would that really be such a bad thing?”_   
  
  
  
  
The oddly worried tone.   
  
  
The hug from a relative stranger.   
  
  
The need to breathe slipped my mind, too preoccupied with weaving together little snippets. And as the spots started to settle over my eyes a vision of Steve popped to the fore-front. 25 years dead in the ocean or a glacier Steve Rogers nodding to ‘Howard Potts’. Missing Pym particles; the quantum realm. My own younger face looking back at me, with just those few hints of Maria blended in.   
  
  


Not a relative stranger. A relative. My son.

** Maria’s POV **

  
“Howard!” I rushed to my collapsed husband’s side, struggled to get down to his level with the pregnancy bump, “Jarvis!”   
  


* * *

** Howard’s POV **   
  


I was only out for a few seconds, but Maria and our butler, Jarvis, both insisted that I see a physician. How was I to argue? I had a son to protect. And holy crap, I almost went down again. My son, my child, the one currently incubating in my wife, was a fucking time walker! 

* * *

  
  
Howard & Anthony Edward Stark, A Few Minutes Old

  
** Howard’s POV **

**** A few months later, Maria gave birth. The nurse passed the baby into my arms. I grinned, holding my child for the second time.   
  


* * *

Anthony Age 1 & 2

** Howard’s POV **

Another year slipped by, then two. Anthony was walking and talking and exploring everything the nannies didn’t whisk from his hands. 

‘Howard Potts’ had told me, _“Money has never bought a second of time.”_ I knew my son meant all the meaningful moments spent together. But inventing was expensive, so money, and science, had bought time. It had bought Ant’ny a trip to the past. So I was going to prepare him for the task of running my kingdom, Stark Industries (S.I.). 

I recalled telling ‘Potts’, _“The kid isn’t even born yet and I’d do anything I could for ‘im.”_ And I was going to do anything I could for Anthony. I was going to re-start the search I’d given up on decades ago, the search to find Steve Rogers, because my son needed Steve. I was going to push technology forward as far as I could. I was going to earn as much money as I could. And I was going to challenge my son to think and build and create and to never consider the job done, to always seek ways to improve.

I'd also told my adult son, _“The greater good has rarely outweighed my own self-interest.”_ So I would share stories of Cap, to help with those morals that I myself lacked. The stories would also help my son bond with the long-lost soldier. 

Would I do all of this for the greater good or for my own self-interest? My son’s an extension of myself, and thus, in a way, it’s self-interest. But whatever had driven Ant’ny and Captain Rogers back to 1970 had to be, in some way, for the greater good. The Captain’s morals didn’t run to self-interest.

Be it for self-interest or the greater good, I was going to prepare my son for what the future held for him. 


	2. Childhood Overview Ages 3-11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is meant to give you an overall view of what his childhood was like. Future chapters will be focused on specific events, year by year as Tony grows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard Disclaimer: I don’t own Marvel. I’m not making any money off this. I’m just having fun playing in their sandbox and hope you enjoy exploring my sandcastle.
> 
> Note: The first paragraph of this chapter is part of a one-shot I wrote called Odin Claus. It can be found on FanFiction.net And yes, Santa is real.
> 
> Also, this chapter was original all in 3rd person POV (the outsider looking in). I’ve managed to switch most of it to 1st person POV from various characters perspectives, but couldn’t find a way to switch all of it. 

* * *

_On your feet little boy,  
no time to crawl,  
you’ve got armor to build,  
circuits to wire._

* * *

** 3rd Person POV **

Maria and Howard Stark struggled with how to raise their child, for in so many ways, he wasn’t a child. So many things came so easily to their son that praising him seemed as absurd as praising a teenager for knowing the alphabet or the names of colors. Anthony would scowl or look at them like they were idiots if they bothered to praise him for knowledge or skills that he considered basic. They got in such the habit of not giving praise that it often slipped their notice that their son did desire praise and attention for the more complex things he’d accomplished.  
  


* * *

  
Howard, Maria & Anthony, Age 3  
  
  
A set of rainbow-colored lights wove their way around the blue spruce, their light glinting off the many packages beneath. Three-year-old Anthony held a box wrapped in gold and green. He bent back the tag and glanced at the label. With a scrunched brow he looked up at his parents. “Santa has Mom’s handwriting.” His eyes flicked to the package and back to his parents, then shrugged and tore off the paper, then exclaimed in excitement over the remote-control car within.

  
___________________________________________________________________

Howard & Anthony (Age 3)

Howard’s POV

That damn manual on childrearing was useless. _Read to the child._ He reads to himself. _Patiently repeat new words._ Not needed. _Redirect misbehaviors into better behaviors._ I find redirecting with one sharp swat works just fine. _Children should be shielded from violence, be it in filmography, stories, or toys._ Please. War was practically scratched into his DNA.

Case in point: 

Anthony came to work with me, with a nanny in tow, of course. The top of his forehead barely poked over the edge of my desk, and his eyes could just see the things on top of it if he stood on his toes. I removed a paperclip from a stack of papers. It was in his hand moments later. 

“What’s this?”

“A paperclip.”

Like with other new words, there was no need to parrot the word back and forth or dole out praise for expanding his vocabulary. Even at one, if Maria or I repeated a new word, such as the color of an item, he’d glare or wrinkle his brow like he thought we were nuts. If we praised his use of a new word his brows would rise like he’d assessed you and determined that you must be dumb to have thought he needed praise for such a simplistic accomplishment as confirming that the name of the object was an armoire.

While I was saying the word paperclip I could see that his brain was already processing multiple ways to use the tiny piece of metal. One of those thoughts popped out of the toddler’s mouth, “Can I have 20 boxes of paperclips? I’m going to make chainmail.”   
  
  
“Sure, kiddo.”  
  
  


The ‘chainmail’ ended up looking like a metal dress. Antn’y ran about with a wooden sword taking down dragons and saving the princesses, which was the only reason there were Barbies in our house. Anthony insisted on having damsels to rescue. 

* * *

Howard, Peggy & Anthony (Age 3)

**_ Peggy’s POV _ **

The metal paper clips clinked against eachother as Anthony swung the wooden sword at the plastic dragon sitting on a couch. The dragon went tumbling to the floor. He announced, “Now to rescue the princess from the cave.” His arm dove between the couch cushions and he pulled out a Barbie in pink chiffon. 

“Princess Myra, your castle awaits.” Then he set her amongst Maria’s beautiful knickknacks on a shelf. Then scampered off in search of a snack.

The moment he left the room I picked up Princess Myra and another of her counterparts that I spied laying around. I also located a GiJo. I took his gun and grenade and attached them to Myra’s legs, under her dress and re-dressed the second Barbie in GiJo’s clothes.

When Anthony returned to the room I passed him the dolls and insisted, “Not all little girls need to be rescued by little boys.”

Anthony retorted, “They’re not little. Their boobs are huge!”

I had to hold back a chuckle, but not the smile. “Be that as it may, some of us ladies are quite good with a gun.”

“What about with a sword?”

“Those too.”

Anthony looked skeptical at that, but then Howard chimed in. “You better believe it son, Peggy here has taken down Nazis and a few others that deserved it.”

“Howard!”

Anthony’s eyes were huge, “You’ve killed people?!”

“It was war, honey. I’m not a murderer.”

Anthony went running from the room in excitement, “Mom! Mom! Aunt Peggy was a World War II soldier, just like Captain America!”

I glared at Howard, “That was not for a child’s ears.”

Howard just shrugged it off, refocusing on the Patriots’ quarterback throwing a ball downfield. I continued to glare at him. 

Howard sighed and replied, “He’s my child. War is going to be a part of his life. Did you want him to continue thinking all women are helpless maidens?”

“Obviously not. But it would have been enough for him to know that I throw a decent punch; it wasn’t necessary for him to know I’ve killed.”

* * *

Jarvis & Anthony (Age 3-5)

**  
_ Jarvis POV _ **

Master Anthony began reading so young. He devoured adventure books, breezing through books with hundreds of pages before many of his peers could identify the full set of letters of the alphabet. Howard and Maria failed to take notice that their child would have yielded to the snail pace of having a book read to him just so he could spend time with them.  
  


But I noticed. 

Anthony would climb up on the couch beside me and would silently read to himself, knowing that was what his parents expected him to do. And then would scooch closer to me. And closer. And then the book would practically wind up in my lap. I’d read aloud, exaggerating the character’s voices. It was sad that child wouldn’t verbally ask for such attention, but doing so was tantamount to admitting a failure, in the young, brilliant mind.

* * *

Maria & Anthony (Age 4)

**_ Maria’s POV  _ **

I had been a lingerie model for one of the more popular lingerie lines, as well as a swimsuit model prior to becoming a mother and wife. My body had changed little and the cameras still loved to click my way. It still gave me a thrill to be photographed. Each time a camera flashed it was like a tally of how well I was liked. And the cameras seemed to have a fetish for the fact I’m a mother. They trail us wherever we go: galas, fundraisers, even simply shopping at boutique with Anthony quirks the paparazzi’s eye our way.

Tony likes to paint with me. Being Howard’s son, his productions are quite analytical and often involve rulers and other tools of precision. When I manage to pry those from his hands, or hide them before we start, his pictures always involve an aspect of war and weaponry. 

I love my child. But I am dearly grateful we can afford nannies. He’s so active! Always exploring, building and imagining himself a hero, like in the tales Howard tells him of Captain Rogers. 

* * *

Nanny Chantel & Anthony (Age 4), France

**_ Nanny Chantel’s POV  _ **

I fell into the cushiest job. Not only did it pay well, but it came with room and board, a maid, a chauffeur, and a chef! Every franc was mine to save or to be frivolous with. I even have time to date! The Starks know Tony can run a nanny ragged, so two of us share the job. Sadly, our employment is only to last one month. That is the length of time Mrs. Stark and Tony are to spend in France. Mr. Stark is on his own trip; traveling the high seas of the North Atlantic.

Mrs. Stark tended to cart Tony along on activities that were more of an interest to her than her son. She actually dressed him up in suit and bow tie and touted him about, like a corsage, at galas and fundraisers. I’m sure it did open a few pockets. It certainly attracted quite a few camera shots. But it felt wrong to me. Tony should have been at home with me, playing, reading and going to bed at a scheduled time. It seemed to me that Tony was little more than a prop, a way for his mother to attract the attention of the paparazzi as they flitted across París. 

Though I can’t say he disliked the cameras. He seemed as much born to them as he was to the tech, imparted by his father. He’d pose, grin, or give an extra smidge of adorable when he saw them skulking in the shrubs. You could see the lights dance in his eyes, like he was having the time of his life, being the show the world wanted to watch.

But after the cameras had had their fill we had an active little boy on our hands in environments ill suited for the playing of war or the disassembly of reachable technology. I did my best to ferret him away before he could cause too much disruption or trouble. 

I took him to a playground once. Tony was thrilled, practically bouncing out of his shoes. 

“I can go play with them!?,” head jerking towards the other children. 

What an odd question. “Of course.”

His eyes widened before he made his escape, whooping as he ran up the slide and swished down it. 

Mrs. Stark’s nostrils flared when she heard of our day’s adventure. I thought her eyes alone were signing my dismissal papers. She managed to hold in whatever she intended to say to me, instead saying, “Tony, dear, go find some toys to play with in the bathtub. Do not turn on the water until one of us gets there.”

“Are you going to play with me!?”

“In a few minutes.”

Tony took off to raid the toybox.

“Tony is expected to hold hands with one of us at all times when we are out and about. Howard has enemies and we have money. I will not have him whisked from your or my arms by strangers.”

“I stayed less than 2 meter from him, Mrs. Stark. I would not and will not allow harm to come to your son. But he needs to run and play and interact with those his own age.”

Mrs. Stark sighed, “I don’t disagree. Just be exceedingly cautious if you return to the park.” She peered out a window. “Perhaps a swing set and slide can be installed here.” 

I did take him back to the park, several times, and probably gave him more free reign than his parents allowed. But I did not rest on the park bench, chatting with the other nannies. I kept the watchful eye and close distance that I had promised to Mrs. Stark.

Both Mrs. Stark and I spoke only French during their trip. Within a week, Anthony seemed fully versed in the language, though not in the culture of France.

“Pouvons-nous avoir des hamburgers et des frites?”

“Non, nous avons des escargots et des pates.”

“Can we have hamburgers and fries?”

“No, we're having snails and pasta.”

* * *

Jarvis & Anthony (Age 4)

  
Math came easily to him too. 

* * *

** Jarvis’ POV **

I pushed the cart through the aisles, adding a package of noodles to the growing pile in the cart. “Master Stark, stay by my side, or you’ll be sitting in the cart instead of walking by it.” Anthony patted back over carrying a box of brightly colored cereal. “You know Nanny Leana will not serve you that sort of thing for breakfast.”

“Yah, but Dad likes when I solve puzzles and there is a puzzle on the back of the box!”

“A children’s cereal has a puzzle challenging enough that you have yet to solve it?”

Anthony explained, “There’s a decoder spyglass inside the box. You have to get the cereal to see the puzzle.”

I took the box, “We shall see. It depends on how much the necessary groceries cost.” Not that the cost would matter, but it was the standard excuse given to children for why not to buy something.

“$57 and 38 cents. With the cereal.”

“You’ve tallied the grocery bill?”

“I was bored.”

* * *

He had similar skill with subtracting and multiplying.

* * *

Nanny Leana & Anthony (Age 4)

**_ Leana’s POV _ **

I have no idea why Jarvis purchased the rainbow colored, sugary breakfast cereal. Or perhaps I did. That child could bat his lashes and turn on the charm or logic as well as his father. 

I did not allow him to eat it for breakfast. More energy is not what that child needs. But after lunch, I did pour the entire contents of the box into a mixing bowl and allowed Tony to treat it as a treasure hunt. He seemed to enjoy digging through it, pretending he was a pirate in search of his spyglass. I pretended to be busy tidying up the kitchen while he snuck a few bites of the sweet before I disposed of the rest in the trash.

* * *

Howard, Nanny Leana & Anthony (Age 4)

The speed of his math calculations allowed Tony to focus on the use of those numbers in his projects. 

* * *

** Nanny Leana’s POV **

Mrs. and Mr. Stark indulged Tony with his projects, allowing him access to materials and tools most would consider dangerous for hands so small. That _I_ considered dangerous for a child to use. Such as today.  
  
  


  
Tony wanted a place to display his completed projects. Rather than buy shelves for the 4-year-old, Mr. Stark gave Tony lumber, a tape measurer, nails, a hammer and a saw and essentially told us to have at it.

“Help him build some shelves, would you? The supplies are alongside the garage. Ant’ny’s jumping at the bit to get started. You might have trouble getting him to sit for breakfast.” Mr. Stark stated on his way out the door to work.

I was flabbergasted. I’m not sure why I continued to be astounded by such orders. I should be used to it after 2 years as Tony’s nanny. But some part of me continues to expect my job to simply entail feeding, clothing and playing with a child, like a normal nanny. But the Starks aren’t normal.

Mr. Stark had been right; it had been impossible to get the child to sit and eat breakfast. Not that it was ever easy to get him to sit and consume a meal. Tony preferred to nibble on snacks while he worked. So I tended to keep trail mix or other snacks on hand. It’s much easier to coax him to eat if you don’t have to convince him to stop working on his projects.

We took the tape measure and measured the wall in his room where the shelves are to go. 

Tony explained his plan. “We’re going to make it 8 feet long, 4 feet high, a foot and a half deep, with one horizontal shelf across the middle and three vertical dividers to make a total of 8 compartments.”

When I had taken on the job as a nanny I hadn’t expected it to entail math, not that Tony needed help with the numbers. I watched as he very precisely marked each board, to the nearest 1/8 inch, where it would need to be cut. 

Tony was _very_ into doing things for himself, to prove himself capable. But 4-year-olds don’t have the muscle or mass behind them to sink a nail through boards of wood, or to saw through lumber.

He insisted on trying anyway. Tony put a wood board between the sides of the Miter box, like he’d seen his Dad do, and then used C-clamps to hold the board in place. I, not wanting the child to get cut, insisted that I put the blade in place between the aligned slits in the Miter box. 

“Can I saw now?”

I supposed that the adorable doe eyes were part of why Mrs. and Mr. Stark so often agreed to their son doing things like this. Those eyes were hard to resist. I gave a nod, and under my watchful eye, he attempted to cut through the wood. He struggled to keep the saw flat and an abundance of pushing and pulling resulted in little more than a small pile of saw dust and the tiniest of dents. 

Other children would’ve had an adult do most of the sawing and would just put their hand on the handle to pretend to saw with them. But Tony wasn’t the type to ask for that sort of help. 

_He_ was the type to come up with alternative solutions. “Can we take the boards to the woodyard and have them cut on the lines I made?”

I was relieved at the suggestion. I wouldn’t have to watch Tony continue to struggle and fret over him getting cut. “Sure thing. Let’s see if Jarvis can help load the lumber into the truck.”

I really didn’t understand Mr. Stark. He could afford to simply buy shelves. Homemade shelves didn’t seem to fit with the milieu of the rest of the home. But it wasn’t my place to question the eccentricities of the uber-wealthy. They paid a decent salary, after all, which couldn’t be said for all nanny jobs.

When we returned with the cut lumber, Tony inevitably wanted to hammer in the nails himself. The kid had the foresight to have me hold the nail with a pair of plyers while he whacked away at it, thus preventing either of us from getting bruised fingers, but sinking a nail into wood is hard work for a 4-year-old. Tony paused mid-swing and mumbled, “Better living through technology.”

“What?”

Louder, he repeated, “Better living through technology. Hammers are old fashioned. We should be using Dad’s nail-gun.”

“Great idea.” I didn’t want to spend all day holding nails anyway.

Anthony didn’t like accepting defeat, but he simply couldn’t press hard enough to get the nails to pop out of the nail-gun. Reluctantly, he allowed me to help him squeeze the trigger to put the nails in place.

With the shelves assembled, I was able to coax him inside for a very late lunch. While he ate, Tony prattled on about his plans to paint the shelves blue and that he wanted to add a Captain America shield symbol on various places. Luckily, the kid conked out 5 minutes after lunch, giving me a much needed break.

  
  


* * *

  
Maria & Tony Age 3 & 4

** Maria’s POV **

  
Tony liked to watch me Mom play piano. In little time, he’d made the connection between the little dots on the page and which keys were pressed and how long they were held. But understanding is different from playing. His hands are small. Some of the chords are too far spread for him to reach. And it takes time to get an instinctual feel for where the keys are, so you don’t have to look for where to put your fingers. Tony seems to like to play, but he’s too focused on other things to obsess over perfecting it. So, his first attempts were clumsy, and his improvement has been gradual. 

* * *

  
Howard & Anthony Ages 3-11

Stark Industries

  
**3 rd Person**

Howard allowed him to tag-along to work and little Anthony’s brain was enthralled with all the new input, computing all that he saw. With a nanny holding his hand, or his Dad at his side, he was permitted to explore the Stark Industry factories. He was fascinated by the interworking of the machines and would willingly sit quietly and stare at the gears turn and at the men in greasy shirts using wrenches and soldering irons as they assembled engines. And his caretakers enjoyed their temporary breaks.   
  


  
Anthony would sit side by side with the R&D computer techs, asking them a thousand questions until his father inevitably rescued the employee by either ordering his son, “Ant’ny, watch silently. Mr. Roberts has work to do.” Or would distract the child with his own set of computer innards. 

** Tony’s POV **

Dad lets me come to work with him. Well, us really. My nanny is required to be with _all_ the time. Sometimes I even have to go into the lady’s room with her and wait while she’s in the stall.

When he has time, Dad stays with me in R&D and shows me how to do stuff or gives me things to build with. Sometimes I just sit in the factory and watch the machines running. If you get the right angle you can see inside ‘em. I try to puzzle out how each gear and rods is connected to make the machine work. 

If I’m quiet, and stay out of the way, I’m allowed to watch new products being tested. But Dad always makes me promise first to follow Aunt Peggy’s rule about keeping mum about stuff. If people found out what we’re making they might try to make it too and if they get it to market before we do then we’ll’ve wasted a lot of money on R&D because you have to play salaries and re-tool the equipment to make the stuff. 

That sounded really weird to me because tools are things like screwdrivers. How are you supposed to re-screwdrive? Unscrew it and screw it back in? That doesn’t make any sense. So I asked Dad. He said re-tooling means that the whole machine has to be modified so it can make the new shape for the new item, and that because the stuff we make has lots of parts several machines have to be re-designed so the new stuff can go into production.

  
  
  
**Howard’s POV**

I, like my son, felt patronized when given accolades for minor successes, that required minimal brain power. And I have no doubt that there are times, where like me, he feels praise is earned, but the accomplishment goes un-acknowledged. 

Until I was a parent I never realized how challenging it could be to determine when to praise and when not to. Antn’y’s brain bounds like a jack-rabbit running from a fox, and with each leap a new conclusion is drawn or a new invention springs to mind. So which success requires the praise? The thing he succeeded at an hour ago, or the thing he’s making right now? His current creation is an enhancement of what came before and an hour from now it may be enhanced again. So when should the praise happen? Should it happen? How will ‘that’s great’ effect his desire to make the gadget better? It may make him consider the job done. He needs to have the drive and desire to improve tech if he’s ever to succeed at creating time travel.

I try to take my que from him; use that knack I’ve got for reading a room to decide if he needs an “Ata boy!” or a, “What else can you do to improve it?”

* * *

  
  
Howard & Anthony Military

  
** Howard’s POV **   
  


Cap’s still lost in the ocean, or some iceberg somewhere. Hopefully the ice and not an ocean, because it’s gonna be a bitch building a sub that can withstand 800 bars of pressure. And what happens with the bends to a hibernating body coming up from that depth. But I got hypothesize that the plane crashed in the ice, because I know for certain Steve is alive. Had he been bopping about on the ocean floor his body would’ve been a smorgasbord, and there’s no coming back from that, enhanced body or not. 

Antn’y needs him. Don’t know why, but I know it to be true. And when I finally do haul him from whatever glacier the plane nosedived into, Antn’y needs to make pals with him. 

At the dinner table, or just at odd moments throughout the day, I tell my little boy tales of Captain America. Antn’y loves to hear of his adventures and I get a kick out of watching him done the Captain America outfit I had made and make believing he’s taking out Nazis.

I encourage anything he does with weapons, be it make believe or constructing tech. It fit well with the industry he’s going to be responsible for running. 

Ant’ny tags along with me to meetings on military bases. I leave him outside with a nanny. Ant’ny avidly watches the soldiers training, and when allowed, exercises alongside them or runs the obstacle course when it was empty. 

I made sure he knew how to use guns too, though Maria threw a fit about that one. YYou could either say I won the fight or tuned her out. He needs to know how to use guns. Stark Industries manufactures weapons for the military. It make sense for Ant’ny to be trained in both marksmanship and tactics, to help him cultivate ideas on how to improve weapon designs. And to prepare for whatever was up with him and Steve.  
  
  


I also signed the kid up for martial arts lessons. After all, he’s the son of wealthy parents, and therefore at risk of kidnapping for ransom. And a complete geek. And tiny for his age. And easily frustrated by idiots. Which for geniuses like us is basically everyone. All good reasons for him to know some self-defense.  
  


* * *

  
  
Education, Anthony, Ages 3-11  
  
** 3rd Person POV **

  
Other than a short stint in boarding school at age 6, Anthony Stark didn’t attend school. He had tutors. What was the point of him going to regular school with its crawling pace and repetition? If you put a punctuation and grammar book in his hands and insist that he wasn’t allowed to build anything or go to work with Dad until he’d finished the chapter he’d buckle down and have the boring text memorized faster than the family chef could finish making breakfast.

Though a butler, Jarvis was essentially one of his main tutors. Together they explored the world’s museums, historical villages and famous places of acclaim, such as the Taj, the Great Pyramids, and Yellowstone National Park. Anthony learned of cultures and languages by being immersed in them as he traveled the world either with Jarvis, his other tutors (boring ones), or on business trips with his parents.   
  
  
Jarvis treated Tony as the son he and his late wife were never able to have.  
  


Such was the life of the young boy that would one day rule his kingdom. But what of all the specific experiences that littered his childhood and would affect the nuances of who he would become? Follow along, and we shall discover together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note
> 
> In the 1970’s and 80’s (and possibly other decades) cereal companies increased their sales by placing cheap plastic toys in amongst the cereal. As a kid, it was great fun. As an adult, all I can think is eww, eww eww! Small munchkins with questionable hygiene shoved their entire arms down into a box of food in search of a toy and then spent the next 3 weeks munching on that cereal!


	3. Zoo, Expo, Circuit Boards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy and Tony hangout. Tony tries to play with the model of the Expo while Howard records the ad. Howard teaches Tony how to make circuit boards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard Disclaimer: I don’t own Marvel. I’m not making any money off this. I’m just having fun playing in their sandbox and hope you enjoy exploring my sandcastle.

* * *

_Your mouth overflows with thoughts, little prince._

_Yet you’re starting to learn that some thoughts are best kept mum._

* * *

_ Peggy and Tony, Age 3_

**_ Peggy’s POV _ **

As I drove up to the mansion I saw Anthony decorating the driveway with chalk drawings while his nanny lounged in a lawn chair, flipping through a magazine.

I got out of my car and crouched down by the tyke. “What are you drawing?”

“Aunt Peggy!” He put down the chalk, and unmindful of the blue chalk dust, grabbed my hand and started pulling me along as he pointed out his drawings. “I’m drawing the limos and cars that were at Mom and Dad’s party last night. Nanny Meriam and I had to stay in my room for most of it and just watch from the window. She said my record for keeping fancy clothes clean is 28 minutes, so at 26 minutes she whisked me upstairs and let me get out of the penguin suit. It was boring anyway.” He gave a big eyeroll. “Just people jabbering and drinking. But I got my picture taken with two famous people, but I don’t remember their names. Mom kept going on about the clothes people were wearing. And yeah, it’s great to have people give you that look like they’re surprised you look so good, but talking about it? That’s just boring.” 

I thought that Maria would likely be thrilled to know her child enjoyed the flash of a camera as much as she. There was so little about Tony’s personality that matched his mother’s. He continued jabbering, and I continued to listen. 

“The cars were great though, so I’m re-creating them. But it’s hard to get the dimensions right, but the meter stick is helping. Are you here to see Dad?”

“I’m here to see you.”

“Really?!”

I nodded, “Really. But I must speak with at least one of your parents first.”

* * *

“Good afternoon, Ms. Carter.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jarvis. I need to speak with Maria or Howard.”

“They’re in the dining room.”

I called out, "I'm kidnapping your kid."

"Are you now?" asked Howard.

"I fancy a trip to the zoo, and that sort of expedition simply demands the presence of a child. So I'm stealing Anthony for the afternoon."

“You want the nanny to tag-along?” Maria inquired.

“I think we can manage on our own for a few hours. I’ll have him back well before bedtime.”

“That soon?”

“Howard!” Was Maria’s exasperated reply.

* * *

Tony and I explored all the animals then at 5:30, when rightfully we should have been getting dinner, I bought the two of us chocolate ice cream cones. 

Of course Anthony loved it, but was still a bit concerned that he might get in trouble for having dessert before dinner. 

"What am I supposed to tell them?"

"Mum's the word."

"Huh? Why would I tell them the word mom?"

"The British have two different versions of the word mum. One is mother. And the other is simply," I put a finger to my lips and went shhhh. "Omitting the facts is so much easier than telling lies. And much more likely to keep you out of trouble.”

“Do you have things you keep mum about?”

“We all do, honey.”

** Tony’s POV **

“Big things or little things?”

Aunt Peggy’s nose crinkled along with her tiny smile. “A bit of both. Now finish your ice cream. We must be getting you home.”

As I ate I pondered what big thing she could be hiding. I’d already figured out that she did secret government stuff, like Dad. He had stuff he couldn’t share too. But her little smile made me think that maybe her big stuff wasn’t boring government work.

* * *

Howard, Anthony, Age 3  
  


_Little prince, touching a future_

_That is not yet yours._

** Howard’s POV  
  
**

I could compute the tangential velocity of a 3.36 inch diameter crankshaft in a Ferrari traveling 68mph as quickly as the next genius. Well, that was a lie. I could do it much faster than them. 

But the point was, whatever the science behind it, time travel had to require massive amounts of energy. It had taken massive amounts of energy to turn scrawny Steve Rogers into Captain America. Time travel must take more. Though my son was going to be the one to solve that little mystery of science, it’s my duty to make as much progress towards it, in my time, as I can. 

The world needs more energy options now, too. The oil embargos are making it difficult for people to fuel their cars. The hippies are writing songs and holding protest about the need for alternative energy sources. And there are so damn many of the long haired, flower wearing, pot smokers that it was becoming necessary to at least be _perceived_ as supporting their side. Particularly since Stark Industries made the bulk of its income building tech to support the soldiers in Vietnam. The hippies really didn’t care for that war and showed their displeasure by picketing outside the gates and doors of S.I. properties.

So Vanko and I designed the ARC reactor and Obadiah sold the idea to the board of directors and to the public at large. I fired Vanko after discovering that rather than being willing to just accept a decent paycheck and a good job, the man had broken his contract with S.I., divulging proprietary secrets and had been attempting to sell ARC technology independently. The ARC reactor had been massively expensive to create. If it was to be sold, it would be sold via Stark Industries so we could re-coup our expenses. Plus, it had the potential to be dangerous, especially since Vanko had been attempting to sell to the U.S.S.R.

Though the ARC reactor was the most advanced energy tech of its day, it wasn’t feasible for everyday use. It had been expensive to build and utilized rare, and potentially dangerous elements. I knew the periodic table as well as others knew how to navigate between the bathroom and kitchen in their own home, which was more of a challenge for me considering the number of homes I owned and the size of them. I’d never admit it out loud, but I could easily get turned around and head in the wrong direction when seeking a snack. 

But I knew the periodic table. I knew the links between the properties and the structure of the atom. And I knew that the element I needed didn’t currently exist. Anything was possible with technology. But it wasn’t magic. It took time, talent, effort, money and brains. I had the talent, effort, money and brains in spades. But it would take a lot of time for the technology needed to create new elements to be developed.

I’d helped create the fusion bomb that caused the war to cease on the Pacific Front back in ’45. I flinched at the mental images of the people harmed by those bombs, and knowing I’d played a part in it. Then forced my brain to recall the daily newspaper images, from that long-ago decade, of coffins containing dead American soldiers, so much like those on the nightly news these days. It had been a necessary means to an end and I wasn’t going to dwell on it. 

So, I knew it was possible to fuse atoms together to make a different element, had made it possible. But creating a brand new element would require so much finesse and tech that I just didn’t have in 1973. 

So I designed a model on a scale so large and with such materials and beauty that no one would realize that it was a model of a yet to be created atom. I designed it right into the landscape and architecture of the future StarkExpo, a place where S.I. could show off all it was creating to help the Americans here at home. A way for us to earn back our reputation with the growing counter-culture and to show off the ARC reactor. 

And most importantly, for me, a way to hide a message for my son, that brilliant child who was already exploring the inner workings of machines and figuring out how they worked. 

** Tony’s POV **

It was Nanny Meriam’s date night. Mom and I had tagged along with Dad to S.I. because we were supposed to go out to dinner when Dad got done. There was nothing to do! I wasn’t allowed in the labs without Dad. Mom was sitting at Dad’s secretary’s desk gabbing on the phone to one of her friends. Dad was being boring too, but more interesting than Mom’s conversation. 

I’d been sitting under the table that holds the big toy city, listening to Dad repeat the same lines over and over again. 

I wished the toy city was on the floor. There was so much I could do with it! I could have my nanny hide something on it and then have my toys go on a rescue mission to find it. I could push my toy cars around on it. I could have a toy dinosaur stomp through it chasing civilians. That means non-army people. Dad’s army friends use that word a lot when they’re bitching about the protestors. 

I’m not even supposed to _hear_ that word. I know because Mom shushes Dad every time he lets it slip around me. That and the one that starts with S and the one that starts with F. Mom really freaks when he says that one. Dad’s started saying them in other languages when Mom’s around, which just means I know how to swear in several languages. Not that I’m dumb enough to actually _say_ any of them. If Mom freaks about me hearing them she’d really blow her rocket if I said one of them. 

Dad was repeating his words again, trying to get the video just right. There were so many buildings on the city. Maybe if I popped up quick enough and took one he wouldn’t notice. Then I’d have something to play with while Mom and Dad talked and talked and talked about boring stuff. 

** Howard’s POV **

One day, Ant’ny would make that new element, use it to power an updated version of the ARC and would use that power to travel through time.

But right now he was a three-year-old who explored his world through touch and was currently re-arranging things on the model. While I was in the middle of filming. “Ant’ny, put that down! Put it back where you got it from. Where’s your mother? Maria! Get him out of here.” Rather than Maria, one of my assistance pulled the child out of the room. 

** Tony’s POV **

Oops. Got caught. Why is Dad allowed to have such a cool toy but I’m not allowed to play with it? One of Dad’s employees carried me back to Mom. She kept on talking to her friend while pulling a pad of paper and pen out of the secretary’s desk. She paused long enough to hand them over and whisper, “Draw something. And stay out of your father’s office.” Then she went back to her chatter.

** Howard’s POV **

I recorded the promo for the Expo. Then, when alone, hit record again. 

“Ant’ny, you are too young to understand this right now so I thought that I’d put it on film for you. I built this for you.” I gestured at the model of the city of tomorrow, the model for the Stark Expo. The model of an atom I was sure could exist and whose properties could power the ARC reactor.

“And someday you’ll realize that it represents a whole lot more than just people’s inventions. It represents my life’s work.” Since the Great Depression I’d been trying to find ways to improve people’s lives. That could only be done through technology. Technology required electricity. Electricity was expensive. 

“This is the key to the future.” The ARC reactor, with the correct element running it, would provide limitless energy, allow the world to advance, and solve so many other problems. 

But as brilliant as I am, I currently don’t have a technique for fusing atoms into the new element; at least not without a giant explosion. A city destroying explosion. But my future son had found a way and it was my duty to guide him to that eventual success. “I’m limited by the technology of my time, but one day you’ll figure this out. And when you do, you will change the world.” And hopefully, I’ll be there to see it, but considering the desperate hug Antn’y had given me, months before his birth, I doubted I was there to see him achieve it. 

I sucked at the whole emotional thing. I needed distance to express it. What could be more distant that a video Antn’y wouldn’t see until he was an adult, that would be withheld from him until after my death? With this distance, I could express what needed to be said. “What is, and always will be, my greatest creation is you.” 

  
  


* * *

** Start of Avengers **

** Tony’s POV **

I did it, Dad. I fused elements and came up with the new one, Starknium. Made enough to create a new ARC reactor that doesn’t require palladium. It’s about to power my skyscraper. And with my lady by my side we’re going to sell the idea to the world. No more dependency on coal or oil. No more wars over the claiming of land with those resources. No more heating the world into extinction through burning them. Electricity abundant enough that everyone’s electric bills will be able to drop. And S.I.’s profits will soar. Everything you wanted, Dad. I’m changing the world. 

I put on the Iron Man suit and flew it into the bay to work on taking Stark Industries’ New York division off the grid.

* * *

Listen well, little prince,

As the king imparts his knowledge,

Then spread those wings and fly.

Howard and Tony (Age 4)

** Tony’s POV **

Today was a workday. I go to work with Dad a lot, as long as it isn’t a day where he’s going to be trapped in boring meetings. He’s been showing me how to build a computer. 

“Technology always advances, An’tny. Back in the 40’s a computer would have filled this entire room. We had to link everything together with copper wires.”

“Like electricity in the house, with lights and stuff, right Dad?”

“Yes. Precisely like the wires in the lamp cord you dissected.”

“You’ve got to see inside stuff to see how it works.” I explained to Dad, and clarified, “Nanny Gene unplugged it first, so it was safe.”

Dad raised a brow, waiting for further details.

“She said you’re a tech genius and make money as fast as Midas and seem to want me to follow in your shoes, so letting me do stuff like that is her doing her part to help you.”

** Howard’s POV **

I thought, ‘Or perhaps she let you do it because she was ticked that I insisted she cancel a date with her boyfriend to watch you while Maria and I had date night,’ but what I said was, “So, you think I should hire her back.”

Anthony shrugged. 

“Well I think Midas doesn’t keep his gold by throwing it away on bad ideas. No more dissecting the home electronics.”

“Yes, sir. We got it re-wired though!”

“With my help.”

“That’s why it was fun.”

I couldn’t disagree with that. I’d had fun re-wiring the lamp with Ant’ny. It was Maria toe tapping in frustration that hadn’t been fun. _“Howard, if we let him get away with this he’s going to pull apart every electronic device in the house trying to figure out how they work.”_ I knew Maria was right, but Ant’ny had his nanny’s permission, which is why she was the one that took the consequence instead of the kid. Maria being correct was also why the kid was at work with me. He needed access to electronics to explore and play with, without Maria fretting that he was going to electrocute himself. 

** Tony’s POV  **

Dad held up a metal plate with groves like a maze across its surface and explained, “We use these instead of wires now. The electricity flows down these paths and provide power for different task.” Then he held up a smooth metal piece, with no groves. “It starts as this.”

Dad was making his own circuit board and I was copying him on my own copper plate. He showed me how to use the special pen to draw the wires on paper. We used this special stuff to glue the paper to the metal plate, and then he let me help him pour the acid on it and shake it up so the copper on either side of the ink dissolved, leaving behind the copper maze. 

I had to prove to him that I could keep my hands steady to drill the tiny holes in exactly the right spots. We put all the doodads in the little holes and then he showed me how to use a soldering iron to melt and nip the ends off of each doodad to hold it in place. You have to be very careful with it or you’ll get burned.

Dad explained what each bit did to help the computer function. Then he asked _me_ if I could figure out how to make it do things faster! It took lots of thinking, but I think I got it figured out and today I get to do all the steps on my own, without Dad’s help (except for pouring the acid) and I don’t have to copy the pattern for the copper maze, like we did last time. I get to decide where to draw the lines and where each doodad should go.

* * *

** Howard’s POV **

Wow! He actually did it. I mean, I knew he had a mega-brain in there, but to be honest, I thought he was just practicing the manual labor of making the board, figuring out how to use the tools, like a pre-schooler testing out a water-color paint set for the first time. I wasn’t expecting him to present me with a Mona Lisa, but the damn thing works! Not only does it work, but it works the way he meant it to, it processes faster!

I picked up the phone and connected with my secretary, “Ms. Jones, schedule a press conference. Make sure all the tech mags are there too.” Damn if I wasn’t going to brag about this. The whole world was going to know.

* * *

** Adult Tony, a few years before Iron Man 1 **

Howard always pushed me to improve tech. Nothing was ever at its best. And what needed to become passe now was computer monitors. Why should the knowledge accessible by a computer be limited to pixels or lines on a screen? The information should be able to pop up into the air wherever you need it. That was the next grand step in computer evolution.

And with a flick, I was there! I grinned as the data appeared to float in the air in front of me. I burst my arms wide and watched it fill the room, then drew them in so tiny that it was best suited for a mouse to read. I may have lost track of time fiddling with re-sizing it, and spinning it, and treating it more like a toy than a computer screen. But tech was meant to be fun!

I hadn’t told the board about it yet and I wasn’t going to. We were still working on recouping funds from the last factory overhaul for the latest and greatest Stark monitors. We needed to sell another 136,000 units to clear expenses, and then we’d start making a profit on them. No use putting out something new when the old wasn’t paid for yet. 

Plus, I liked being the only person in the world with invisible monitors and I wanted to savor that for a while. And then I was going to savor the ad campaigns. My face was going to be splashed on Forbes, News Week, and several other glossy mags, as well as guest appearance on various shows to show off the tech. You can’t buy a moment of time, but you can sure as hell savor them when they arrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Everything I know about making a computer circuit board comes from 30 minutes of You Tube research. If I completely mucked the whole thing up, well, oh well. It’s also the reason the little metal things are called doodads, because I have no idea what they are actually called. If you know and want to tell me their name I may update chapter or I might leave it as doodads.


End file.
